


Synthesis

by tselina



Series: Star Trek: Pleiades [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fated Family, Found Family, Gen, Gen (Pre-Slash), See Notes for Blanket Warnings, the slowest burn possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 01:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13671822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tselina/pseuds/tselina
Summary: It rained the day Spock met Jim Kirk.AUTHOR IS MOVING. UPDATE QUEUE: 3The first multi-part novel in Star Trek: Pleiades, a Reboot Reimagining AU, where the academic trial takes place over a month earlier than in the movie. Kirk & Spock Alternating POV. Primarily Gen, with a focus on the K+S friendship, as well as the relationships between the rest of the Enterprise crew.FIC NOT ABANDONED, CURRENTLY IN RE-WRITES / ON ROTATION WITH OTHER ACTIVE FANDOM WORK





	Synthesis

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to "Star Trek: Synthesis", part of the Star Trek: Pleiades series of fan novels. The current story has been drafted, and sections will be posted as edits are complete. 
> 
> Some quotes are either taken directly from the movie, or paraphrased to fit the new framework of this reboot. I use [this script](http://www.chakoteya.net/Extras/movie2009.html) for reference. I use [this site](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/) for all my Vulcan vocabulary needs.
> 
> Please note that this is for fun! If I make any lore or science mistakes, bear with me! I hope to entertain, that is all. That said, this work was not created for profit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Pairings:** Mentions past McCoy/Kirk and past Uhura/Spock.  
>  **Warnings:** Suicidal thoughts/Suicide attempt. Discussions of terminal illness.

**

It rained the day Spock met Jim Kirk. The mid-winter storm assailed the Presidio, a chilly downpour atypical for San Francisco. Red-clad cadets and grey-uniformed officers crisscrossed the Academy grounds like so many harried birds, attempting to find shelter beneath awnings and entryways to shake dry their proverbial wings. Each door had a line for the boot brush, and each person weighed the cost of further delaying their impatient colleagues behind them, or being caught with dirty regulation footwear.

Spock watched the spectacle from the open mezzanine of the lecture hall. He was spared the trouble of wet, clingy fabric and dirty boots as he had not left the building since the previous night. He'd sequestered himself in his office, hunched over three traditional paper reports and two PADDs for the duration of fourteen and a half hours total, with only three breaks for bodily necessities such as food, water, and visits to the head.

Vulcans were made for endurance, could withstand days without sustenance or sleep. Spock, exhausted, eyes aching and temples throbbing, was reminded that he was only half of that resilient bloodline. Yet he would refrain from further self-deprecation regarding his fatigue. His half-Human physiology might reduce his body’s stamina, but it would not hinder his composure. Composure that had been tested thoroughly throughout the past two days.

Spock did not tarry long in the entryway, knowing he would need adequate hydration to continue with his day, and perhaps a stimulant to get through the next few hours. The events of the day would not delay for one exhausted Vulcan, especially one that revolved around his failure, so he made the return trip to his office.

He stopped at the faculty break room for an espresso. The drink would not last long in his system, yet would suffice to give him a chemical boost until his _g’teth_ brew was finished percolating. The espresso, without the addition of his preferred non-dairy foam, was extremely bitter, a reminder of his situation, and his unpleasant task today. He was to confront his hubris regarding his work, both in front of the Academy board and the attention of officers and cadets as well.

Upon his return to his office, Spock settled before his research once more. The paper reports were set aside, and the PADDs pulled forward. On the left, the initial report logged by the other simulation instructors not three days ago. On the right, a brief dossier regarding the root of the problem: Cadet James Tiberius Kirk.

Four days ago, Kirk had taken part in his third attempt at the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation, primarily reserved for the Command Track students. Kirk had initially taken the test at the end of his second year and had lasted thirty-five minutes, putting him in the upper 10% of all previous test-takers since the installation of the sim itself. He had been frustrated with his results, and had voiced the same on his self-review. _There needs to be more options_ , he’d said at the time, though he’d declined to suggest what those options should be.

The second time did not end so neatly for Kirk. He had lasted only fifteen minutes. The third, six months nearly to the day of that failed test, took only five minutes. The difference was that he, to everyone’s surprise save Kirk’s own, had “won”.

Spock had taken over the _Kobayashi Maru’s_ programming some years ago, had tightened the logic, restructured its architecture, reducing its processing requirements down to being “short and sweet”, as Spock’s mother would say. He had taken out some of the more superfluous branching scenarios that merely lead to early dead-ends, lengthening the time a cadet remained in the simulator by over ten minutes on average. It had become the epitome of efficiency in what it was created to do, sharp and clean as Occam’s Razor. Spock had been proud of each line of code, as one would a finely tended garden. It took five minutes to find that garden trampled.

The _g’teth_ was finished brewing. Spock stirred in a very generous helping of agave and more hemp milk than he normally utilized for his customary morning drink. Stirring it together, he felt the heat drift from the green surface of the drink, and he inhaled the scent. The addition of Terran products did not change the scent-memory of this particular roast of _g’teth_ , his mother’s favorite. Spock grasped the triggered memory, remembering the layers of tall, gauzy curtains of his bedroom nearest the eastern balcony, the open shutters gently clacking against the sandy stone of the estate’s metal-glazed windows. He was four, and devouring a book on Human programming, sounding out words silently to learn to read English as well as he and his family spoke it. The _g’teth_ he had was diluted heavily with sha’amii milk, almost a pastel color, but the smell of it just as strong.

The earliest memory of a Vulcan’s intellectual pursuits was precious, a touchstone for one’s _katra_. In melding for the first time with an instructor, one summons this memory, focuses on it to have the most thorough projection.

More so than the repetition of Surak’s mantras, memories of the halls of D’H’riset were Spock’s favored meditative grounds. Here, next to his cup of steaming, sweetened drink, he visualized his pre-prepared responses to whatever he may come up against in the trial. While they were not exhaustive, they would provide a simple launch point for Spock to smoothly and succinctly bring the trial to an earlier end than anticipated. Before him, logic branched outwards like the dry, resilient roots of desert flowers, their vines filling each rocky crevasse created from faulty reasoning, stabilizing the path to the most optimal outcome.

The soft sound of his desk chrono chiming gradually pulled Spock back to Terran space and Terran soil, to Terran sensibilities of right and wrong, and to what constituted cleverness and ingenuity for human people. For that was, of course, what was at stake at the core of this trial: Kirk, as intelligent as his aptitude scores and academic achievements proved him to be, thought he’d been _clever_. Impish, would be the colorful word that one might choose. He spent his third round of the _Kobayashi Maru_ giving calm, casual-sounding orders while partaking of a bright red apple -- chewing loudly and speaking with his mouth full, at that, which was, for his Terran culture, quite rude -- and he’d draped himself on the Captain’s chair like a boy-king on a throne, idly gesturing at the viewing screen as the Klingon ships were taken down after the system brown-out.

This parody performance of the _Kobayashi Maru_ , a test so designed to engender the exact opposite of Kirk’s behavior, made Spock feel a flash of anger in his gut. Like the First Memory, there was the Vulcan practice of “Swallowing Smoke”, a visualization tactic for accepting and shuttering powerful, invasive emotions. Spock did that now, thinking of the steam of his drink as the personification of his righteous but irrational anger to filter through his full lungs.

Yes, Spock was righteous, here: Kirk should not think he could so easily get away with this irreverent behavior. It was an affront to the very track he was on. A commander could not expect a miraculous malfunction in an opponent’s systems to herald an impossible victory.

The mug of _g’teth_ drained, a final trip to the head, a brief look-over in his office mirror, and Spock was prepared for his public appearance. He took the few flights of stairs from the assistant instructors’ offices near the back of the auditorium, avoiding the crowd for as long as possible. He had beaten the Admirals here, but there were already a few other of his fellow officers, in their greys, collecting in the room behind the stage. A few smiled, and gestured at him, and a few pretended he did not exist. It was not uncommon. Spock’s presence, as ever, was a polarizing one, and something he could never quite avoid. There was no place where he could go where someone would not make a judgment on him, by the circumstance of his birth.

He hugged the side of the auditorium, waiting. He’d wanted a chance to see his opponent prior to the engagement. Spock would clearly be best served seeing if he could assess Kirk’s mood and motivations; young Humans wore their emotions so eagerly, even when they were doing their best to suppress them. And though Kirk was not much younger than him, Spock was counting on him being frustrated with being caught, and miscalculating his steps by being prideful, disdainful.

Spock was rewarded within minutes of his post, and saw Kirk enter the hall.

The cadet was drenched. His skin, which was pale, was blanched in most places by the cold, and the red on his cheeks and nose stood out. So did his mouth, expressive and currently parted with a distant curiosity as he surveyed the room, its raised seating, and the circle of admirals and instructors milling around the stage. He did not like what he saw in the slightest, Spock noted, and something of the passing storm crossed the other man's features.

Beside him, one of his fellow cadets motioned towards where the public restrooms were. He was older than Kirk and focused on Kirk alone, a sternness in his features, and in the cadence of his voice; though Spock could not hear him acutely, it was not unlike a tired elder sibling reasoning with their errant charge.

The room now surveyed, the two left, presumably to tidy Kirk up before the trial. Other students began to fill in the seats of the auditorium, their chatter cacophonous and unintelligible, despite Spock's discerning hearing. They were most of them human, and rather young, choosing Starfleet for their secondary education and career out of the compulsory education required in their countries. Others, like Kirk's doctor companion, came after graduating from such secondary facilities, or were in-between, as Kirk, with credits enough to skip some of the Academy’s basic introductory classes.

Spock had been a mixture of both of those instances, in a manner, coming over to Earth at seventeen, though his Vulcan education had qualified him to advance quickly on the academic tracks within a single semester. He was a Commander now at twenty-eight, a junior instructor at the Academy, and First Officer at his initial posting. This, while appearing exceptional to most, was simply what Spock had expected of himself when he forewent attending the Vulcan Science Academy.

These advancements had not made him popular with some of the upper echelons in Starfleet, human and xeno alike. Despite his and his parents' attempts at distancing their relationships to avoid the appearance of nepotism, many considered Spock's position to be a result of his parentage, rather than his genuine accomplishments. Today, at the trial, Spock would be judged as well as Kirk. This, he had known from the beginning of the ordeal, when he had made his first report.

Kirk returned with his friend. He was dressed in a dry uniform, his hair still damp, gold turned brass. Spock watched Kirk surreptitiously as he could. Though he could not sense the other man’s thoughts, he knew him to be nervous, shoulders bunched as he settled in his assigned row. The doctor sat next to him, and put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder, squeezing. They shared a few silent words between them. Then the boatswain’s whistle called, a brief and unnerving piercing noise that Spock knew he would never quite acclimate to, and the entire room stood as the Admirals entered.

Admiral Richard Barnett was presiding. He ran the Academy Board, and Spock knew him to be fair. The man began with the usual ceremony, with introductions and a brief, rote message of why they were gathered, and how the tribunal would progress. The ceremony was comforting, in its way, and Spock used the time to begin reviewing the statements he’d memorized, reviewing the possible denials Kirk may have. His thought process in itself was a program, except this time Kirk would have no recourse, no subroutine to install to override that careful structure.

"Cadet Officer Lieutenant J.G. James Tiberius Kirk, rise and approach the bench."

Spock watched Kirk take his place. His new, dry uniform was now damp at the collar with sweat.

"Admirals, thank you," he said, and stood at the defendant's podium. There was a smile on his face. "I appreciate your time today."

"I appreciate you understand that you're imposing on our time, Cadet," Admiral Barnett said. Barnett could be counted on to be neutral in most matters, but he was clearly not impressed at Kirk's introduction.

Kirk's smile turned defensive. "Of course," he said.

"You know why you are here," Barnett continued, "but I will state for the record: you have been accused of academic misconduct, in violation of the Academy Code of Ethics."

"I have been informed this is what I have been accused of, yes, Admiral," Kirk repeated. His voice was well-articulated. "Per regulation, I am able to request to face my accuser, correct, sir?"

"Yes," Barnett said. He looked at Spock, and they met eyes. "Commander Spock, if you will approach the bench."

Spock stood, tucked down his shirt, and approached his podium.

"Spock," he saw Kirk murmur, to himself, too soft to be picked up by the podium microphone. He had cleaned his face and covered his red cheeks with a kind of fain concealer. It made him appear uniformly pale to the Human eye, and his mouth was still half-open, a natural purse of curiosity that soon thinned with a curious frown.

Kirk would likely recall seeing his name. It is why Kirk had stood out to Spock initially, upon review of the potential breach of the _Kobayashi Maru_ code. Kirk had been on a class roster for one of Spock’s own courses on Comparative Xenological Structures in Scientific Programming. The cadet had taken it remotely while spending his time out at sea on the _USS Farragut_. Kirk was just a name, then, with excellent marks. There was the matter of Spock scoring Kirk's Advanced Tactical Training final exam, having graded him on other simulations that Kirk had accomplished without the inclusion of an invasive subroutine. They had never met face-to-face. Even now, there were meters between them. Kirk watch Spock approach, and a small frown knit between his thick brows.

"Commander," Kirk said, by way of greeting.

"Cadet Kirk," Spock said, and kept his hands behind him, addressing him alone. "I have made the board aware that your supposed victory in the _Kobayashi Maru_ was, indeed, a consequence of your intentional alteration of the simulation's primary programming, resulting in a false outcome."

"You have made them aware in plain language," Kirk said, passive for now, though Spock saw the infinitesimal adjustment of the man's knuckles gripping the platform of his podium. "Would you kindly do so for me now, sir?"

"You cheated," Spock said. He was not surprised Kirk was attempting to pry at specifics and semantics. It had been part of Spock’s forecast for this event, and in his mind, he opened a new branch for his prepared responses. "You created a subroutine and installed it prior to your third attempt at the _Kobayashi Maru_."

"So, you're discounting my victory as a cheat," Kirk said, tilting his head. There was something strange in his eyes. They were very pale, and blue, and in the natural grey light from the windows, in the gauziness of the storm, they appeared to retain no color at all. "Why is that? Just because it's hard, doesn't mean someone can't win. Unless it's not possible to win in the first place."

Spock's mouth tightened as he fought a frown. He had prepared no appropriate responses for this train of logic. The pale eyes shifted.

This was a trap.

"It is meant to be a no-win scenario," Spock said, regaining his footing. Preparation or not, it was no trouble to improvise. "And as such, it is designed in such a manner to teach the command candidate how they would respond to a dire situation."

"I've taken many of your tests, Commander, sir," Kirk continued, nothing but respectful, "and I have found them challenging in the past, educational. But the _Kobayashi Maru_ is different. It's not just a no-win scenario, it's fundamentally unwinnable on a programming level. Winning isn't even in the architecture of the program itself."

"How would you know about the architecture of the program, Cadet Kirk, if you have not reviewed it yourself?" Spock suppressed lifting his brows in moderate triumph. The trap would snap on its hunter before it caught its prey. "The perimeters of the _Kobayashi Maru_ are not available to students for review. You would have needed to have accessed them without authorization."

"The basic framework of the tests is available to officer candidate students with a proficiency in programming," Kirk continued, and added, without smiling, with no smugness, "as you would know, Commander, considering that's how you were able to get the job programming the Advanced Tactics curriculum in the first place."

Spock suppressed surprise, now. He recovered. But something in those blue eyes had again changed. Not triumph. Patience. The trap turned its teeth towards Spock once more.

"If I recall from the _public_ file I accessed," Kirk said, "in Spring 2250, Science Track Cadet S.T. Spock accessed the then-current Tactical Simulation program files without appropriate authorization -- though it was duly noted that access was not necessarily tightly restricted at the time -- but that remains that you didn't have permission. You copied the programs and re-wrote them and then, once it was made apparent to you that people had seen you'd been nosing around, you submitted them as --"

"This trial," Spock interrupted, his voice unconsciously tense, "is about your deliberate misconduct, Cadet Kirk, not my academic history."

The room was very quiet. The Admirals were watching, their faces cultivated stone. This exchange had their audience rapt. Kirk was turning the tide while Spock remained far ashore. Kirk smiled again, and let Spock continue, which he did with trepidation. He did not like to fill silences.

"There is video evidence of you in the mainframe itself," Spock said. "You took advantage of one of your fellow cadets to procure and utilize their credentials to deploy the subroutine which changed the conditions of the _Kobayashi Maru_ prior to your taking the test."

Kirk did not respond, or make protestation, affirm, deny. They remained silent. Spock refused to make the next move. He would not be goaded. Kirk relented.

"Your statement notes that you removed subroutines and derelict code to save processing power for the simulators themselves, and to make them easier to access as well as do spot-adjustments on the fly. But in taking out the dross, Commander, you closed the code on this particular one. The _Kobayashi Maru_ as we know it now, rather than the way it was five years ago, is the evidence of a cheat. A lie."

Spock's vision clouded at the implication, briefly, the spike of anger like a burst of scalding steam from a sulfur vent. It was immediately tempered, and did not show on his face, or in his posture. He had swallowed that smoke in time. But barely.

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock said, calm. "And at no time have students been told anything different regarding the _Kobayashi Maru_. It is a no-win scenario on purpose, and has always been."

"But we're talking semantics here, Commander," Kirk said, reasonable, and with the vague show of teeth in a smile that Spock could not read, "subtle things, assumptions. People hear ‘no-win’ and of course they think, 'it's going to be tough, but maybe I'll be the one that beats it. I'm going to do my best. Maybe I'll be the one that changes the game, maybe I can break the sim if I just do the right thing.'

"There's none of that in your code, Commander. It is impossible to win because you wrote it that way, not because it's difficult, with hard choices that don't seem to have a right answer. It’s finite, close-ended. So it's not a conundrum of faith, or mettle, or pride, or fear. It's a cheat, it's cheap, it's a cop-out, and it's not how the real world works."

The simulator was initially open-ended. That was true. The original tragedy had seen the destruction of the _Kobayashi Maru_ , and had almost incited war, but the Starfleet vessel had returned from the battle, unlike the scenario played out in the simulation. The perimeters were so contradictory that it would never be possible to adequately replicate the same real-life scenario. So, it was neater, Spock had surmised at the time, to simply close any possible branches that would never be viable. He had never told anyone before that it was factually unbeatable, as it had not been necessary. Now, though, he saw faces flicker in the audience. He saw a few admirals shift. A trial where he was the prosecutor, and somehow the accusation lay on him.

"The test is about fear," Spock said, trying now to navigate the new level of obstruction Kirk was providing. "Fear in the face of the inevitable, of certain death and destruction of innocents and the restrictions of our codes of honor, where duty and mortality meet. It has never been about winning. It has been about understanding the psychological impact of --"

"Commander, with due respect, just because you didn't want to deal with messy variables while you were casually poking around where you weren't allowed," Kirk began, waving a hand, "doesn't mean you shouldn't have tried. You clearly enjoy challenges. What made you slack here? I understand being busy, but this test isn't just a freight run or Neutral Zone patrol, it's one of Command Track's most important milestones."

"What are you implying, Cadet Kirk?" Spock asked, now incensed enough to put his hands on the podium.

"That, fundamentally, the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation as it is executed now is flawed, and has no realistic bearing on a real-life scenario."

"What is unrealistic about it?"

"There's no _hope_ , Commander," Kirk finished. "People need hope to strive to do their best, which I believe is the fundamental basis of all these sims: doing your best to figure out a solution that benefits everyone the most. And now why would anyone want to try their hardest, when they know there's no point behind trying to act dutifully, or morally? Talk about psychological impact."

There was no avenue that Kirk had not thought of; he had caught Spock off guard so sincerely that Spock felt the fool in front of the Academy and the Admiralty. He had not been addressed regarding his work in such a dismissive fashion by someone not from Vulcan, nor had he ever been diminished by a human in such a fashion. Spock was so accustomed to being slighted by others mentioning his ethnicity and species as an argumentative tactic that this assault on his work ethic alone was impossible to find immediate defenses.

This was not a trial. This was a debate, and now, barely that. No longer could Spock rely on logic and simple facts in this engagement; he would need to employ tactics that he normally found distasteful. He did not particularly want blood from Kirk, but he could not allow this to stand, for the sake of his reputation, his pride as a Vulcan.

"We may argue the merits of self-directed research and development," Spock said, righting himself internally, swallowing smoke, "and how it may advance our academic careers, but we are not here to have a philosophical discussion. We are also here to discuss what you have done that blatantly goes against the Starfleet Code of Ethics, with no room for leniency."

"Here, here," Barnett muttered, and there was murmuring, as Spock began to steer a course correction in his favor.

"Please elaborate again, then," Kirk said.

"You accessed a restricted area with another Cadet's codes without their knowledge," Spock said. "Regardless of the merits of changing a program for better or worse, you took advantage of one of your peers --"

"Took advantage," Kirk said, with a strange note to his voice. Something rose to the surface: anger. Kirk had turned red at the ears, so stoked to this sudden passion that Spock could nearly feel it. "I -- that's a colorful choice of words."

He was still attempting to make no mention of admission or guilt. It was the kind of response that Spock was forced to engender.

"What else would you call bringing an innocent party to shoulder the trial you are faced with now, just so you desire to have your ego satisfied?" Spock said. He was very good with coloring words that would elicit emotional responses, and he felt the truth in these. It was not fair to the young Cadet whose credentials Kirk had "borrowed".

"It's violent language," Kirk said. Anger surfaced.

"Then I apologize," Spock said. "But let us not deter ourselves from the truth. You took another cadet’s identification without their knowledge, and used it to enter an area in which they worked but for which you did not have clearance. There is video evidence of this, as I have stated. This is a violation of our standard code of ethics. Do you deny this accusation, Mr. Kirk? Or do we need to play the video for the Admiralty to see?"

A pause, and the crowd seemed to be holding its collective breath for Kirk to speak. Kirk went rigid.

"I did enter the mainframe with another cadet's codes," Kirk said, at last -- his hand had been forced. Spock did not allow himself satisfaction now, though. There was no way to read Kirk's moves, just his mood. Which had soured.

"Did you consider the damage you would do to your fellow cadet's career if your actions could be linked to them? Or were you too busy being congratulating yourself for your so-called victory?”

The kindling snapped and crackled. Kirk was becoming volatile, though his voice remained low. "I would have presumed that, if my visiting the mainframe were to be found out, that the investigation would easily turn up the cadet's innocence, rather than threatening her to get some sort of rise --"

"I am not threatening her," Spock replied. "Please do not cast emotional aspirations on my statements, Cadet.”

Kirk's hands fisted. He was losing ground, but Spock remained firm. A wounded animal could still turn a fight in their favor, and Kirk had proven a stronger opponent than Spock could have ever anticipated.

"You just don't like that I beat your test," Kirk said, finally.

"Regardless, you did not think of anything _but_ beating it," Spock said. He selected the simplest, sharpest of facts to use in this final volley. "You did not think about the other cadet, or even your own academic career. Or how your actions reflect upon the instructors and mentors that have supported you since the beginning."

Kirk, now, had been well and truly caught, Spock could tell. He was perfectly still. His eyes were white at the edges. His mouth had blanched with how sharply he bit the bottom of it.

"You're hitting that low, huh," Kirk said. The facade of politeness, and obedience, was being deconstructed.

"Excuse me, Cadet?"

"You're threatening your coworkers -- sir," Kirk said, and he was fighting valiantly with himself, in a manner that Spock would find admirable for any human, had they not been at odds. "Over something that should have, quite honestly, not been a reason the whole of the Academy had to be dragged literally through rain and mud to watch. If you're the one worried that folks will think poorly of my mentors or other students because my hand's been in the proverbial cookie jar, maybe you should've kept it to a private lashing instead of a public spectacle. _Sir._ "

That, Spock had no recourse to. He agreed with Kirk. Yet, he had agreed to the spectacle, because he was certain the outcome. And Kirk had not only defied those expectations, he had out-maneuvered Spock more than once in a verbal sparring match. Two egregious miscalculations, and nothing to show for it.

Spock did not have to labor over a response, thankfully, as Barnett spoke over them.

"Gentlemen, while it's fascinating watching you two play verbal tennis, I think you'll appreciate that we need to focus on the issues at hand. Which, by the way, I'll lay out: you cheated, Kirk, by using someone else's private information. That's why you're here."

"But he makes a good point," said Admiral Carthwright, frowning from his position in the curve of the stage. He was not usually on the academic board, but had been invited today, and he was always critical of Spock’s early appointments. "We didn't know that Commander Spock was that kind of gatekeeper to that test."

Barnett countered that, folding his hands. "If we want to look into the Commander's take on it, we can do that in another tribunal." That was final; Barnett turned to look at Spock, with an expression that he did not expect, a kind of sympathy, which left quickly.

"Mr. Kirk, I'll lay it out for you. I don't care about the program you adjusted. You put another cadet in a bad place."

"For which I am deeply apologetic for," Kirk said, and it sounded honest. He'd lowered his eyes. He was still struggling with remaining anger, his face still red where the concealer did not cover.

"But --" Barnett sighed and leaned back, looking among his peers, then back again. Spock held his breath, a cursedly human action. "The test is stressful as it is, Commander Spock. It puts a serious psychological strain on cadets. Human ones, at least," he added, as he saw Spock adjust his posture, ready to speak. "You're simulating a life-or-death situation that would give anyone shell shock. Even if they know it's not real, in the moment…"

The Admiral trailed off, and tapped his hands flat on the bench. "I'm motioning for a two day recess to deliberate," he said. "There's more factors we need to take into account now."

Kirk tilted his chin up. He didn't look at Spock. Spock knew what it meant, though: he had successfully diluted Spock's case. Editing the sim was, without Barnett mentioning it, no longer a count against Kirk, but against Spock.

The motion was carried. In two days, the cadet and the commander would meet with the board for judgment. The venue was not yet decided. The tribunal was then adjourned and the crowd, tangibly disappointed, was dismissed. The cadets and officers filed out first; Spock could hear them whispering, but he was ultimately too distracted to focus on any one of them. Kirk remained still, save shifting naturally from foot to foot. Then he looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with Spock.

It was not the look of smugness that Spock expected. It was calculating, as if he was still trying to find a way to completely rectify the situation, to exonerate himself in full. But he didn't say anything, and soon the Admirals began to shuffle, preparing to leave. Kirk looked away, towards them. Spock saw him palm something on his right wrist, something gold under his sleeve, a cuff or watch. It was just a flicker, a tell of nervousness.

"You two, we'll be meeting later," Barnett said, approaching them. He was a head shorter with the two of them on the raised podiums, but his stern look was not diminished.

"Privately, sir?" Spock asked.

"Well, we'll see what everyone wants," the admiral replied, neutral. "Kirk, you're officially on temporary academic probation until this matter is decided. That's pretty mild considering, so be on your best behavior."

The word 'probation' had caused something to tighten in Kirk's shoulders. But he said nothing, knowing it was not his place.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet," Barnett said, but it seemed more of his kind of customary gruffness rather than a threat. "You two are dismissed."

"Sir," Spock and Kirk said, and Barnett was the last admiral to leave. The auditorium was quiet again, though there were a few strays outside still chatting, and yet another person waiting inside. Most likely Kirk's doctor companion.

"Bones," Kirk said, not giving Spock another look, heading down the hallway between the seating. "Hey, thanks for waiting."

"Of course, Jim," Spock heard "Bones" say, and they were gone, too. Spock was alone in the hall, its chrome and glass and metal, and the unpleasant sensation of defeat.

**

"You were _really_ playing with fire there, Jim," was the first thing McCoy said when he and Kirk left the auditorium.

"Bones, _c'mon_. Give me like, two seconds to decompress," Kirk said, shoving a hand through his hair. Still wet and tacky from the product he used, melted from the rain. "Do you have the duffle?"

"Yeah, I have your damn duty bag," McCoy said, grunting. He reminded Kirk of Admiral Barnett, a man that no matter the situation cultivated an air of gruffness, even when he didn't have his claws out. "Let me guess, you’ve forgotten to eat, too. I’m going off planet in three days, Jim, I have no idea how you’re going to survive without me --”

"Oh, _jee-zu_ s, Bones, what did I say?" Kirk rubbed his face, feeling the concealer come off a little in his hands. He made a face, and clapped his hands to dry the makeup there, tempted to wipe it on the duffle bag that McCoy had thrust on him. "Please. Everyone is staring at me, can we just -- go to your place?"

McCoy grunted in response. The two of them took a quick detour, which lead to the on-site clinic. McCoy’s security clearance was high, enough to get them through the back offices and towards the officer shuttle dock. The irony of being smuggled out of the trial by someone else's credentials was not lost on Kirk, and he felt a jab of vague dismay that had nothing to do with the public humiliation from today.

"Going toe-to-toe like that with a Vulcan," McCoy muttered, as they took the shuttle to McCoy's campus housing. Kirk was glad he didn't have to return to his dorm after this mess.

 _Academic probation._ It wasn't suspension, and it wasn't expulsion. In fact, it wasn't the final verdict. The committee was going to think about it -- that there was new information to consider -- and that should be cause for celebration. Clearly, they hadn't liked hearing about the Commander's dead-end code. That was in Kirk’s favor. It didn't stop him being guilty of swiping codes that weren't his. That could still get him suspended. The social damage, he could manage. He deserved whatever hate he got for betraying a perfectly nice girl's trust. But being kicked out of Starfleet would mean something he couldn't handle: going home.

He was quiet in the lift to McCoy's apartment, and McCoy didn't try to get words out of him. His friend could pry with the best of them, but he wasn’t now. He knew what Kirk was stewing over.

Sure enough, when the lift stopped, McCoy's hand went to the small of Kirk's back, a steadying gesture.

"C'mon, kid," McCoy said, waving his card to open his door, "get in there. I'll get changed and start some coffee."

McCoy's apartment was a wide open space compared to Kirk’s cramped dorm, with a high ceiling and a floor-length glass window that was almost always shuttered and tinted against the western-setting sun. The walls were eggshell white, sterile, and all the furnishings about fifteen years out of date. McCoy had managed to bring some of his “Southern Charm” to the place: crocheted blankets in rich colors, photographs of the Blue Ridge Mountains projected onto the bare walls, and his own indoor garden. Kirk had spent plenty of time here in the past three years, taking advantage of McCoy’s open kitchen and fresh herbs, doing laundry in the half-sized machines crammed into the bathroom, and for a time, spending weekend nights in McCoy’s bed.

It was safe here. Kirk dropped his duffle and sat down hard on the loveseat. He yawned, rubbing his face, and closed his eyes.

When he woke up -- and that's what he did, wake up -- he was opposite the loveseat on McCoy's couch. The jewel-colored crocheted blanket was draped over him rather than the sofa’s back. The dryer echoed from the bathroom tile a room away, and there was a thermos on the stand by his head that probably contained the precise coffee-to-sweet creamer ratio he preferred. Nearby, the sounds of McCoy busy with work, fingers striking a rhythm on the clear surface of his desktop console. Soft classic vocals from the late twentieth century floated in from the open kitchen.

Serene as it all was, Kirk felt as if he was dredging his body up from a sinkhole when he moved. Getting the thermos open without spilling any on himself was a miracle.

"Did I pass out?" he asked, finally, after he'd drank half the coffee. "I don't remember laying down."

"Almost," McCoy said. His face was lit up blue-and-white from his console projection, focused while he spoke to Kirk. "I came in after I changed and found you snoring into your hands. It was pretty impressive how you stayed upright."

"Full of surprises," Kirk said, and he almost laughed. Almost. Nothing was very funny right now. "What time is it?"

"Just past 1600.”

Kirk boggled in surprise. "I've been asleep for that long? The trial was at 0915 and it barely lasted thirty minutes --"

"You didn't sleep the night before, kid," McCoy said, looking up at Kirk with his dark eyes and a furrowed brow. Kirk fought not to flinch from the patented 'I'm worried about you' look McCoy had trained on him. "You're a mess. I'm surprised you didn’t pass out sooner."

"I ran on spite today," Kirk said, standing and stretching his sore body. The couch did not comfortably fit his 180-plus centimeters. "It only goes so far, though, I'm starving now. Do you have any of the pastries left from Wednesday? I'm hungry but I don't want real food."

"Yeah, I do," McCoy said, nodding towards the open kitchen. "Knock yourself out, tiger, just remember to drink some water too."

The next few hours went by slowly. Kirk ate half of McCoy's remaining pastries and another thermos of coffee, then spent time soaking in McCoy's full-sized bathtub, lazily reading through a half-finished novel on the old-fashioned e-reader he kept on hand at McCoy’s place. He felt a little guilty luxuriating, but Kirk figured he'd have enough anxiety to handle once he checked back into the world beyond his friend's apartment.

“I should head to my dorm to get my portable console,” Kirk said after he’d dried off, picking through the civilian clothes he had stashed in McCoy’s dresser. “I have those engineering certifications to finish, I can’t get behind.”

"You really are a conundrum, kiddo," McCoy said, sorting the clean laundry on the bed. "Bet Commander Spock didn't mention any of your grades or whatever 'cause he was too impressed a human is as academically relentless as he'd be."

"You know, I thought that." Kirk pulled on a heather blue school shirt with white lettering -- _STARFLEET: COMMAND TRACK CLASS 2258_ \-- which he’d purchased well ahead of his graduation date. "I think he was surprised how well I handled myself. Think I saw his eyebrows raise more than once in alarm."

"I doubt he expected to be taken a few rounds, either," McCoy said. Despite his earlier grunting about it, he seemed proud. “Vulcans are just as prideful as humans, I've learned, they just show their asses in different ways."

Kirk snorted, and worked to dry off the cuff he wore on his right wrist with the edge of his shirt. It was a simple gold-faced duranium cuff that Kirk tried not to take it off unless absolutely necessary, even if he was in the shower. He was used to wearing some kind of medical alert wristlet since he was a child, considering his strange and plentiful allergies to many modern medications. This had been a gift about a year ago, a more fashionable way to keep his medical datachip near his body, two automatic epinephrine shots, and it even had a small projection chronometer for extra utility, which Kirk fiddled with now.

"You still haven't set that to Earth time, huh?" McCoy said, watching Kirk push the buttons on the side of the cuff. "You want to confuse yourself again?"

"I'm not confused, I can transpose the time in my head, thanks," Kirk said. The chron now properly dimmed, he looked at the most priceless part of the gift: a single opalescent teardrop. Despite its common appearance, the mineral was unique, rare even from the planet it came from. Kirk turned his wrist, watching the milky surface shimmer with rainbow hues, before tucking the teardrop up into its lattice cage.

"Actually," Kirk said, finding his voice unsteady, "I might hang, uh, hang out in the Professor's office after I get my console. Is that okay?"

McCoy paused over matching his socks. "Uh -- I mean, 'course it is, but do you even have access?"

"I still have her TA keycards," Kirk said, swallowing past a lump in his throat. "I mean, I -- I'd like to stay here but --"

"Jim, you don't need my permission to do something you want," McCoy said, hand lifted as if gentling a nervous horse. "Though I appreciate knowing where you're going."

"Yeah, I -- of course, Bones, I'll always tell you where I'm going." Kirk tugged his shirt down over his black jeans, then grabbed McCoy's navy blue _EMORY MEDICAL 2251_ hoodie from the clean laundry without asking, planning to be as incognito as he could. "It's -- it's after quarters, now, isn't it? The last thing I need is to be caught in civvies."

"It will be when you get to the dorms," McCoy said. He'd kept his eyes on Kirk the whole time. "Look, you'll be fine. Grab your con and a pair of sneakers, you’re going to get blisters in those things. Then text me when you get to the Doc's office, I can swing by to escort you to breakfast tomorrow. We can talk about you plant-sitting while I’m gone, okay?”

"Okay. Thanks Bones." Kirk finished gathering his fully charged comm and the duffle. At some point, McCoy had folded both his cadet uniforms on top of it, the fabric now completely dry. There was a small plastic bag with a set of spare contacts, vitamin capsules, eye drops, and a note; TAKE CARE OF URSELF!!! was scrawled next to a little frowny face, complete with angry eyebrows over bulgy eyes.

He couldn't help but smile at that. As always, McCoy thought three steps ahead of him. Kirk zipped up his duffle, slinging it over his shoulder. In the mirror beside the door, Kirk decided he’d never looked more like a college student slumming around, even when he’d been at university.

The rain had stopped, leaving the air muggy, the weather around the Bay never sure if it wanted to allow winter in or not. Kirk took a short shuttle to the underclassmen dorms, the rest of his journey on foot, finding wet grass and surprise puddles on his way to his floor. He'd taken a small, awkwardly shaped corner room for privacy and its place near the stairwell. It allowed him to sneak in late if necessary without waking everyone on the floor up. Kirk looked through the stair door window for any possible stragglers that might want to talk to him about the trial. He didn’t see any fellow cadets, but there was someone there, lounging outside his door, waiting.

The world turned sideways when Kirk recognized him. His fight or flight instinct drove Kirk’s exhausted body down the stairs and out into the shuttle station he’d just been at in record speed. He clung to the rail near the dock, keeping his hoodie tight around his features, dizzy the fading adrenaline and mounting panic attack.

All the peace he'd gotten from being with McCoy vanished. He could take the shuttle back to his friend’s, but if that man could get into one set of dorms, he’d probably have no trouble getting into another.

He put in for his stop and sat down in the back row of seats, fingers digging into his duffle. The ride seemed to take forever, and Kirk took off from the shuttle as fast before the doors could open the way, making a line straight to the Xeno-Anthropology Building.

It was one of the oldest structures on campus, concrete and stone on the outside, its old-fashioned windows fogged in the evening humidity. Kirk almost sobbed in relief as he found his TA codes still worked on the faculty doors.

The hallway he entered was sandy-colored concrete with high, craggy vaulted ceilings and a spectrum of red and purple drapery hanging in delicate, scalloped shapes. It was a mockup of a Vulcan homestead, rather than their clean-cut chrome scientific installations. Directly ahead, under a twin set of _RATA, TAFAR, TAPAN_ draperies and dangling blue-and-green seaglass lights, was a familiar set of brown double doors. To the side, the plaque still remained fixed there, printed in brass rather than the standard electronic nameplate: _S.T. AMANDA GRAYSON, PhD_.

Kirk held up his shaking comm, pausing to call up the frequency to get the doors to unlock after hours. The heavy wood doors clicked, shuddered, and opened inwards.

The office was mostly empty, but not yet abandoned, though its primary occupant had been gone now for over six months. He’d come here for refuge since beginning his new life at the Academy. Tonight, it was the only place he was convinced he’d be safe from his past.

**

Spock thought he was alone that morning, tucked into the dark corner of the Xeno-Anthropology Building that had been his mother's office. Ostensibly, it still belonged to her -- the plaque had not yet been taken down -- but with her effects now boxed and stacked high against the mahogany shelves, it looked far more like a mausoleum than a professor's office.

The thought was a morbid one, but Spock permitted it. His mother was always where his _katra_ had found itself unsettled, and he'd long since accepted that matters regarding her would shake him to his core. Accepting had made it easier to handle such outbursts personally.

Right now, he did not miss her, not only because he was talking to her, but because she was being difficult in the manner of all mothers to their adult children.

It was mid-day in D'H'riset. She was in one of the center rooms, where it would be cooler, but it made the transmission a little fuzzy. It gave a strange, halo-like quality to the pale hair that peeked out from under her headscarf, her wide eyes, her frustrated, maternal glare.

"You should be on that ship over," she said. "How are you supposed to do your class without being there?"

Spock's shoulders rolled. They were speaking in dialect, which was almost like a trap to him: he was able to relax when he didn't have to speak in FSE or Vuhlkansu’s received pronunciation as he needed to on Earth. It also meant that he was always off his guard.

"Mama, please," he said. "You know it's not that easy to simply get reassigned."

"You're supposed to be teaching. How can you do an effective job when you're not even in the classroom?" Dr. Grayson folded her arms. Spock firmed his lips once, a Vulcan’s wince. Too late he realized she was not badgering him about coming home so much as being critical about his teaching ethic. Nothing was more mortifying to a Vulcan than a technical lecture from a parent in the same profession.

"I can assure you, Proud Teacher Grayson," Spock said, stressing her professional titles, "that I'll be able to make it work just as well. What, are you concerned they're just going to spend the entire time gossiping and drawing on their notes?"

"No," Dr. Grayson said, wrinkling her nose. "Well, maybe. Aren't most of them kids?"

"Except for Childhood Friend Staak and Young Ambassador Saveen t'Avek, yes," Spock said.

"Staak is there!" Dr. Grayson exclaimed, delighted. "Oh, good, he can keep an eye on you for me…”

"Via video, yes, Mother, I suppose," Spock stressed, stilted. Then, he sighed, a human gesture just for her, so she would appreciate his sincerity. "Truly, Mama, I want to come home, but I'll be needed in just under a month. Captain Pike needs me to wait until the Enterprise is done the recent repairs and upgrading the ‘core, I can't do that dawdling in space at Warp-Nothing for weeks on end."

"Don't deflect everything off on Christopher," Dr. Grayson warned.

"Mama, please understand," Spock stressed, leaning over to loom at the camera.

"Don't you 'Mama' me on this," Dr. Grayson said, tapping at her camera as if she was poking at his nose. “Your sister Michael got leave to see me, and _she’s_ on mission with the Joint Science Council. And she works with far more Vulcans than you do.”

“Honored Sister T’Kael also has far more pull at her job than I do, Mama.”

“Fine, fair, fair,” Dr. Grayson said. Then she was quiet.

"It's gotten better," she said, abrupt. “The coughing, at least.”

Spock's heart jumped from his side to his stomach. "Has it?" he said, now leaning forward in earnest.

"I mean, it's -- stopped bothering me so much," Dr. Grayson said, wagging her hands a little. “It’s, ah --”

“Do the Healers have an updated prognosis, then?” Spock asked, with far too much human eagerness. _A more favorable one_ , he left unsaid.

“I -- not really.” She smiled at him. Spock thought about just how many Human cultures on Earth smiled when they were so obviously unhappy. “Just that it’s better for the rest of me, so it’s a couple months extra. Maybe a year.”

“Oh.”

“Little Sprout,” _pi’tehkahm_ , the childhood nickname that used to grate Spock as a teenager, and now made him feel properly small in the present, “I want you to be here now. When we can go out together. When we can laugh -- or, I can -- not when I’m cracking bad jokes on a Healer Hospice bed.”

Spock inhaled, taking a swallow of sudden, chilly smoke with it.

"Yes, Mama," Spock said. His mind found solutions almost simultaneously, and he grasped at them quickly. "I know. I'll see what Captain Pike can do in the next few months. First, we'll be making that jump at Juniper Point for the new Warp Core QC. Do you think you could --"

"Can't go off planet during the treatments," Dr. Grayson said.

"We'll find something," Spock said, then his ears burned with the sound of fabric shifting, the sound of a quick breath of surprise.

Someone was in the office with him.

"Spockahm?" Dr. Grayson asked as Spock went still, leaning this way and that, as if she could see over his shoulder.

"Just a second, Mama," Spock said, and stood.

It was Kirk. He had emerged from behind the rigid-backed loveseat, as if he’d teleported there. His face was splotchy red-and-white from recent sleep and dehydration. He did not look like the lean, scarlet-backed thing on the podium from the day before, with a _le-matya's_ grin. It was someone else that stood here in Dr. Grayson's office, in dark-colored civilian sweats that leached him of color, his bright eyes empty save their contempt, directed on Spock.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt you," Kirk said. He smiled, a brittle facade of friendliness. "I'm sure it's more important."

"I will call you back, _k'mehkahm_ ," Spock said, in FSE. He heard his mother protest briefly -- "Spock, what's going on?" -- but he cut the connection with a swipe across the screen and removed the receiver from his ear.

"What," Spock said, summoning the mantle of Surak's solemnity to drape across him, "are you doing in here, Mr. Kirk?"

"What am --" Kirk gave a reedy laugh, the gravel of his tired voice unsettling in falsetto. "Oh, man, you officers can go any-fucking-where they want, can’t they?”

Spock’s brows raised at the unchecked profanity. “Answer me, please, Mr. Kirk.”

Kirk drew a face, then dug in his pockets. From his fingers dangled a set of flat metal keys, ones that fit into the physical locks in the Xenopology Building, including Dr. Grayson’s.

"I have rights to be here,” Kirk said. “Do you?"

Spock knew, of course, that Kirk had once been a Teaching Assistant for his mother's classes. She'd had a few over the years. It did not seem congruous with having her keys after her departure half a year ago. He would not know of Spock as Dr. Grayson's son, which at this time, seemed a great oversight that Spock nearly corrected in his next breath, before he saw the Teardrop.

It was dangling from the gold-colored cuff that Kirk had been fiddling with after the trial, clearly for comfort. The stone was tapered beneath a simple locked cage on the cuff, to store when it was not being displayed. Pale as the Terran moon, shimmering even now in the dim light with its benign crystalline radiation, the rarest form of vokaya was affixed to this stranger's wrist. Created from the irradiated seas of glass still present on Vulcan, vokau-heya was so named the Memory Stone because it was a reminder of their violent, blood-thirsty past, of nuclear wastes of power. All were generally a soft blue-green, but some, the Teardrops of Mothers and Fathers, were water-like, and rare, prized for their unique beauty.

Spock had seen two Teardrops identical to this one. They belonged to his elder half-brother, Sybok, and his foster sister, Michael. They were tokens of Dr. Grayson's affection, of her solemn vow as their mother and protector, a guardian who considered them part of her legacy. There would be no other way Kirk could have obtained one on his own, unless Dr. Grayson had given it to him in earnest.

The vague rush of dismay and displaced jealousy took Spock, then was easily contained. He had to prove to Kirk he was no intruder to his own mother's office, an absurd idea. He thought of a truth to extrapolate on.

"Amanda Grayson's office is the --" he began.

"Doctor Grayson," Kirk said, with teeth.

" _Doctor_ Grayson," Spock corrected, jaw locking. A moment of familiarity reflected poorly on him, another misstep in front of this maddeningly intuitive intruder. "Her office has the most secure, direct line to Vulcan in the Academy. I have been given permission to use it as necessary."

"Was it necessary _this_ morning? Seems a little early for tattling on Dr. Grayson’s poor taste in students.”

Spock found himself balking, physically so, and had to restrain his movement before it became visible to Kirk. "Pardon me?"

"Oh, don't be precious about it," Kirk said, the brittle facade of indifference breaking. "I know how plenty of Vulcans feel about Dr. Grayson. I know her every move is watched and picked apart. I just didn’t think you’d get on it so quickly.”

This was a bit much for Spock. Nothing coming out of Kirk’s mouth followed any rational logic. " _What_ are you talking about, Mr. Kirk?”

That laugh again. "Are you seriously playing dumb here, Commander? _You're_ the one who threatened her at the trial.”

" _Threatened her?_ "

The accusation was far too much for Spock to remain properly Vulcan. The words burst out of him, smoke and steam at once. Kirk was the one who balked backwards now. He recovered, though, something powering him far more than just spite.

“Yeah. You did,” he said, now boldly stepping into Spock’s space. “Saying that I'd better watch my behavior, that it'll reflect poorly on my mentors, or whatever --"

“You gravely misunderstand me,” Spock said, “and casting your paranoid aspirations on me are unwarranted as such.”

“My ass they are,” Kirk said.

“I can assure you, regardless of how a minority of Vulcans hold Dr. Grayson in poor regard, I am not one of them.” He tilted his chin a little, gripping his hands behind his back. This had to end, and shortly, if he was to keep his temper on the rather delicate subject of his mother.

“However, I do find them curious, these accusations of yours. Considering your behavior.”

It was bait. Kirk took it. His heavy brows lifted.

“Curious considering _what?_ ”

“That you think it wise to cast such poor judgment upon me, when you are certainly not in a position to do so yourself,” Spock said, “having broken the trust of someone who cared for you.”

Kirk’s entire body tensed, as if to lunge at Spock. Then, a moment later, he came unstrung. His brow relaxed, his mouth opened. In a single, full-body slouch, the antagonism left him. To use such a blow was necessary, Spock thought, to end this engagement. It did not satisfy him in the slightest. He, too, was using Gaila in this moment, and it settled badly beside his heart. Yet further hostilities would not make tomorrow easier on either of them, so Spock decided to make peace as best as possible.

"Mr. Kirk," Spock said, lowering his voice, hoping to mimic emphatic sincerity, "I believe it does neither of us good to linger here. While I understand your presence here, there are many that may not. You must consider your duty to report to the admirals tomorrow."

"So you're saying I have to leave," Kirk said, without inflection.

Impatient smoke, briefly exhaled. " _Yes_ , Mr. Kirk, that is my strong suggestion. For your well-being."

"My well-being," Kirk repeated. Then laughed, no longer high, just breathy and tired. "All right. Give me five minutes. I'll be right out."

"A wise decision," Spock appraised. "We will receive notice on where we are to meet in the next few hours. I foresee it being at Starfleet Command itself. I assume you are often punctual, but I would recommend you take the ferry early across the water. You will need your dress uniform in order."

"Yeah," Kirk said, looking behind him briefly. "I have a clean one, sure, sir."

"Then, I will see you tomorrow," Spock said, taking his bag, then his leave. Though off-kilter from the encounter, he felt a little better for having confronted Kirk before the meeting. Certainly, with matters between them settled, it would be an easy one. He would only understand how gravely he miscalculated much later, and with nearly dire consequences, but for now he was content.

**

Nyota Uhura came to visit Spock in the evening, after dinner. It was the weekend, and she wore civilian clothes; she was cold-natured as Spock was, and was summarily bundled up to her neck with the snap of cold. She was, as always, dressed elegantly, from head-to-toe a picture of Human beauty and grace. It was not without a brief pang of heartache in Spock's side to see her, to miss the closeness they once shared. And then, the pain covered and controlled, as was custom.

"When I moved here," Uhura said, resting her day bag on the seat across from Spock's desk, "I didn’t think San Francisco had seasons. I barely have any clothes here for this weather."

"It is quite damp today," he commented as Uhura made her way to his tea station, her long ponytail cutting across her shoulders in perfectly straight waves as she fixed herself a drink. "I am thankful it is not summer, however."

"Me too. Though I do miss how charming your complaining is," Uhura said, settling down with an artful, casual flop on the cushioned seat.

"I do not," Spock said, "complain. It would be unbecoming."

"You find your ways," Uhura said. She smiled brilliantly at him, and blew at the steam over her mug. Spock, pointedly, did not look at her hands.

"You're chatty today, Spock," Uhura said, tilting her head. "Are you that nervous about tomorrow?"

If Spock was one for human expressions of exasperation, he would have sighed; instead, he briefly touched the side of his mouth with his knuckle. It did not hurt to be honest, at least with Uhura.

"I am feeling -- off my usual orbit, it is true," he said, with the Vulcan turn of phrase that meant one was struggling with inner conflict affecting their outward composure. "It deals primarily with the troubling conclusion of the trial yesterday."

"With Kirk," Uhura said, then snorted. She sipped her tea before continuing; Spock knew she was sorting out her complicated feelings on this particular subject. He had only known Kirk by reputation, primarily from Uhura's perspective. It was with a special disdain for the fact their paths had crossed one too many times in their extracurriculars and their academic associations.

Uhura liked the challenge, of course. She had admitted it as such. But this new development seemed to have shifted something in the dynamic she presented.

"Do you have any thoughts about the trial?” he asked, once she’d finished half of her drink.

"I'm not really sure," Uhura murmured. "If he hadn't drug Gaila into it, maybe I'd have a ready answer…”

"Yes, Gaila," Spock said, leaning back briefly in his chair, relaxing. He folded his hands on the desktop. "Is she well?"

"She is, but she's jumpy," Uhura said. "She _really_ , really liked him, and the betrayal -- well, you know how she feels about this kind of thing. She's paranoid again, after all that work -- therapy -- I had to walk her around this morning." A storm had clouded Uhura's delicate features. "I didn't think he was capable of being so callous to someone that trusted him.”

Spock thought of Kirk's sickly pallor, the redness of his eyes, the manic and raw tone to his voice as he demanded Spock’s intentions in Dr. Grayson's office, and silently agreed to the sentiment. Spock could still taste the air, the smell of stale spices and wet human hair, the scent of fury and panic. He could still see the blue eyes boring into him, the edge of a creature not quite tamed, and certainly not domesticated. A wolf hunted. Someone so wild and unpredictable could not be anticipated logically, despite previous behavior.

"Do you think she may require a return to therapy?" he asked. "I know that she is concerned for the way it looks on her record. I would be glad to sign off on her soundness, if that is her worry."

"Oh, would you?" Uhura leaned forward. "That'd be great. She can hold it together when she works, but --"

"Her mental well-being is of utmost importance to her becoming the officer she desires to be," Spock said. He was not a man of open sentiment, though Uhura had long since known how to read between the lines. She smiled at him, warm and relieved. The ache in his side briefly returned, and was again quashed.

Then, a thought came to him: " _Therapy._ " he repeated, in Vuhlkansu. Uhura looked up from her drink, as he began to shuffle around his desk beneath PADDs and paper notebooks.

"Inspired?" she asked. "I don't think she needs the note just yet --"

"Not her," Spock said.

There was a requirement for all students to take a psychological evaluation after the _Kobayashi Maru_ , to soothe frayed nerves and bruised confidence. Spock had insisted on it being mandatory when he’d taken on proctoring the tests.

A cursory review of Kirk’s available records showed that this was a requirement he’d been allowed to skip out on. There were no redacted or sealed items on his list. The only medical records were various, for his allergies and small ailments. No psychological visits.

He noticed, too, the time frame of the second test. Now that he knew there was a connection, it was obvious. It was six months ago, barely a week after Dr. Amanda Grayson had left her life on Earth, so that she could end it on Vulcan.

“Nyota,” Spock said, looking up at Uhura slowly, “what was Kirk like when you first met him?”

Uhura took a moment to gather herself, understanding this assessment was important. Of course she did. A mind like hers was always thinking ahead.

“It was at the stop-over in Iowa, at a dive near the shipyard. He was drunk as hell and wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Uhura said, both her hands beneath her chin as she spoke. “He ended up in a fight with my boys and was thrown towards me at some point. Fell right over me and knocked me into the bar, head right on my chest. And he looked -- he wasn’t horrified, that’s not the word, but bewildered. I shoved him, and then I didn’t think anything of it.

“And later, when he showed up at the Xenolinguistics club, he came up to me at the end of the session. And I was fully ready to blow him off. But the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t a line, or a bit. He looked kind of shaken up. He said,” here she paused to recall Kirk’s exact words, “‘I’m sorry I was so inappropriate when we first met. I also hope I didn’t hurt you when I ran into you, that was also very inappropriate of me.’ He looked so sincere, and jumpy. I didn’t even know what to do, you know? I never expected that. So I said, learn how to stop hitting on women that say no, and he said, yes ma’am. And that was that.”

“Until he invaded practically every academic club you’d ever chaired,” Spock said, and gave her the brief curl of smile, an intimacy she had long earned.

“Yeah,” Uhura said. “Oh, god. Jim Kirk, bane of my existence. The funny thing is that he was -- apologetic there, too. Even then. He’s a show-off, though. Probably because he didn’t want others to think he was weak.” Her lashes, long and curled, lowered against her cheeks as she collected her final thoughts. “Honestly, I’m pissed right now. But he’s not -- fundamentally a terrible person. It’s a one-off, Spock. I don’t forgive him for hurting Gaila, but…”

“He is not someone that would, habitually, be some sort of social offender such as this,” Spock stated. “Honestly… I feel as if your judgment could prove helpful for him, if he attempts to make an appeal.”

Uhura tilted her head, puzzled. “You -- that’d hurt your case, Spock.”

“My case is -- it has lost its initial -- potency.” It was not quite the word he desired to use, but it was colorful enough to get his point across. “The second _Kobayashi Maru_ attempt was clearly disturbing to him, and it is something you witnessed yourself. He may very well have suffered a psychological break in the aftermath, and your testimony could assist him.”

“You want to help him,” Uhura stated. It was not a judgment.

“He is -- an excellent student,” Spock admitted. “And he was apparently my mother’s favorite.”

“Oh,” Uhura said. She’d known, Spock knew, but Amanda Grayson and her son had always kept their work separate. _You’d be jealous of all the other sons and daughters I have_ , she said once, and it was true. He’d been jealous enough of his half-brother and foster sister as a boy, as much as he cared for them.

“Nyota, if it were necessary,” Spock said, “would you be willing to give testimony to Kirk’s character? If that would not be a conflict of interest between you and Gaila, at least.”

Uhura’s mouth dropped. “I -- I’ll need to think about it,” she said. “Just let me know how the trial goes, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Spock said. Then, quietly: “I will be at the platform when your ship takes off in a few days, to help the Junior Ambassadors onboard and set up my teaching space. Do you mind if I take time to see you off?”

Uhura smiled at him, a sadness taking her beautiful features. “Of course I don’t mind, Spock.”

He wished to say more, something irrational and filled with raw sentiment, when the door chime interrupted him and squashed his brief flare of courage.

“Enter,” Spock said.

The voice-controlled lock released, the visitor left standing at the door. It was a man in a black day uniform, with a commander's rank, hat by his side. He was white, middle-aged and greying, passingly familiar in the way many humans of his make were.

"Sorry to interrupt," the man said. He smiled apologetically, and waved. "I don’t have an appointment or anything.”

"No, please, come in," Spock said, standing.

"Really, you’ve got company, I can come back later."

"No, no, it's fine," Uhura said, giving the man a brief, stunning smile. She stood, her ponytail swaying with her. "I was on my way out. Spock, I’ll see you soon. Message me after the meeting tomorrow?”

"Of course," Spock said, bowing slightly at the waist, and Uhura left. McConnell gave her a paternal smile as she passed, his gaze not lingering like most men, which Spock appreciated.

"What may I help you with today, Commander?”

"Frank McConnell," he said, almost putting his hand out to shake it, and immediately course correcting, which Spock also appreciated. He sat down at Spock’s gestures, folding his legs at the knee. "Just got in with the Babylon, you know her."

"Oh, yes," Spock said. "The agricultural survey. How is Captain Amagi, is she well?"

"Tomoe? Oh, yeah, she's great," McConnell said, laughing. "She pulled my ear to get off the boat while we're resupplying. You should go see her."

"I should but," Spock said, dipping his head lightly, "I have become quite occupied."

"Oh yeah," McConnell said, snapping his fingers. "That's what I'm here about."

Spock's eyebrows lifted. He recalled, now, why the name and face was familiar.

"You're here about Mr. Kirk," Spock said, and folded his hands on the desk, interested.

"Yeah, yeah," McConnell said. He'd set his hat down, and leaned back in the chair, hands over his knee. "What can I say, first off. The kid's brilliant, but he's trouble."

"He has certainly caused a disruption in my otherwise rote schedule, that is certain," Spock said. "I was meant to be using these last few days preparing for a class I am teaching over the next two months, and yet... well."

"Jimmy," McConnell said, and shook his head. "So, what'd he do again? I heard he cheated on something?" There was an aura of vague disbelief in the man's voice. Whatever trouble he considered Kirk perpetuating, cheating was not in the young man's repertoire. Oddly, a point in Kirk's favor, regarding the uncharacteristic behavior.

"Yes, he deployed an algorithm that effectively gave him a means to beat the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation," Spock said, tilting his head, "which, as you know, is one of the most important cornerstones of our Command Track."

"I was just stunned he took it more than once!" McConnell said. "Three times. He must've cooked it up after getting his ass kicked in the second one, if you'll permit me."

"That is my current theory," Spock said, nodding. Crude though McConnell's phrasing was, the second _Kobayashi Maru_ attempt was indeed the first signs of Kirk's irregular comportment.

"I just came really to let you know Amagi's probably going to be bugging you, and well, give you any tips with handling my nephew," McConnell said, smiling. "He does need a heavy hand occasionally, and it's a shame he's drug you into this, Commander."

"It is of no consequence to me," Spock said, though that was stretching the truth. It _was_ of consequence, clearly, as now he had himself been implicated in some kind of wrongdoing. A stranger, however, did not need to know that. "But I appreciate the sentiment. The ordeal shall wrap up shortly, however, and I feel that it will be for the benefit of us all."

"You're a fair guy, I wouldn't be in your shoes," McConnell said, laughing fondly. "Don't be easy on him just because he's your age, Commander."

"Vulcans are not known for their leniency in such matters, Commander, regardless of age."

"Just don't let him trick the brass into thinking you're somehow the one at fault," McConnell commented, leaning over in his chair, as if to share a secret. Spock's heart tripped against his side, though he did not show his surprise at McConnell's words on his face. Somehow, though, McConnell read his silence.

"Has he already gotten you in trouble?" he said, wide-eyed. "Oh, hell. I'm sorry."

"You need not apologize," Spock said, composing himself, feeling unnerved at McConnell zeroing in on his current troubles.

"No, I mean, I raised the kid, I wish I'd done a better job," he sighed, hands raking the short crop of his hair. "But it'll be alright. He's blustery, folks will see through that."

That didn't quite seem accurate to what Spock knew of Kirk's conduct, but family members were not always as adept at judging younger generations, most especially guardians. The frustrated fondness in McConnell's voice spoke of a rivalry between nephew and uncle that was common for human males of many cultures.

"I appreciate --" Spock began, in earnest, and then his comm made a quiet chime. The particular sound, though, was not one that he generally used for his personal message. It was something else, something specific. "Oh, excuse me, it’s a family message."

"Oh, please!" McConnell said, waving. "Check it, check it. I'm the one imposing."

His comm began insistently chime an alert; he held his hand up carefully and said, “I’m sorry, Commander. I must review this.”

He stared at the message. Its provenance was unique. It stated that it had come from a Starfleet console unit in the Upperclassmen Apartments; it had gone through the proxy he'd set up for a certain mail account to keep his identity as Amanda Grayson's son a secret. It was to S.T., a common abbreviation of his Vulcan family name, and it was from James Kirk himself.

> _Hello,_
> 
> _I was one of your mother's students on Earth. I've kept the items she couldn't store in her office in my dorm room for the past few months. I've left instructions with a friend regarding how you can get them checked out of the dorm, as I won't be there to help._
> 
> _Please tell her thank you for me, and that I am very sorry for not discussing my actions with her beforehand. You are very lucky to have such a talented mother, I am so thankful for her guidance and all she has taught me. I wish your family peace and long life._
> 
> _JTK_

‘I won't be there to help.’ ‘I am very sorry.’ These words combined with the wildness of Kirk's expression in Dr. Grayson's office, the recounting of his second _Kobayashi Maru_ attempt by Uhura, the troubled past his uncle had described --

"This is urgent," Spock said. It was not a lie, of course. He considered telling McConnell about his distress, but decided against it: best to confirm that the situation was as dire as it seemed. "I must reply."

"Oh, of course," McConnell said, waving a hand. He smiled again. "I’ll see you around. Tomorrow, maybe.”

"Certainly," Spock said, and left the room with haste.

Spock's heart throbbed briefly in his side. Clearly Kirk had misinterpreted his intentions. He had considered Spock reminding him of his duty to his mentors as Spock threatening them, after all. Telling him that he had to leave Dr. Grayson’s study was the last straw. It was up to Spock to remedy this, and swiftly.

There was still time. There had to be, for Spock to properly discern where Kirk would be attempting this final venture of his. He would more than likely still be on the grounds. He needed to par down Kirk's choices, and quickly. To track the slight radiation from the vokaya would require a stronger, more sophisticated scanner than Spock had access to at the moment. But that brought to mind the cuff Kirk wore. It was of Vulcan make, thick enough to hide a dangling gemstone half the time. Most likely there was a chronometer that told the time and relative weather conditions in major areas on Vulcan. There would be a ping, every so often, towards one of the "atomic clock" satellites that would relay such information.

Kirk would not be the only one with such a device on campus, however; it would take too much precious time to attempt to triangulate a single signal. There had to be something else.

Spock visualized the cuff again, prying at his memory to see if there was something unique that his personal tricorder could detect, and he remembered the keys dangling in Kirk’s fingers, instead. Inelegant, old-fashioned, and an extra layer of security, it required both door codes and the presence of the physical keys. Clearly someone could steal the keys, or know the codes, but the latter could be reset remotely by the user, rendering the keys useless to the thief. Kirk was no thief. Those keys were his alone to use, and Spock could access to key logs on every building on campus.

It began to rain again as he scanned his PADD, a light drizzle that made Spock yearn for the indoors. He made his calculations while jogging forward, holding a hand over his comm to review the recent use of such security combinations.

Kirk's keys and codes had been used in the past thirty minutes, used to enter the Xenobiology building after hours, and then to open the maintenance door to the roof.

It would not be a painless end, but it would be one that would not require immediate discovery of his death, the drama only in his disappearance. It would not be a beautiful end, either, when his body would be trawled from the water. Spock thought of Uhura speaking gently about Kirk, and then, thought of his mother, who would have to hear about Kirk's death from him.

He bypassed the elevator for the stairs. The access door was still open when he reached it.

Kirk was on the roof, near the edge of it. He had taken his shoes off and put them beside the fire escape. The flood lights from the bushes below made his eyes nearly transparent, his skin an eerie, washed out pink.

"Come to lecture me about breaking and entering, Commander?"

Kirk did not look at Spock; Spock did not yet step into his space. He kept his hands behind him, evening out his breath.

"No," Spock said. He did not elaborate. And he did not move, because Kirk was now standing up, hand extended over the edge. He walked along an invisible line between the raised lip of the roof and the air conditioning unit he had been sitting on, like a tightrope artist.

"You're not the gloating sort," Kirk continued. "Or maybe I've misread you."

"Perhaps," Spock said. He had to raise his voice to be heard, though Kirk was perfectly intelligible. "It is quite cold out. Are you warm enough, Mr. Kirk? I know this weather is not usual for this area of your country."

There was a soft hiss of laughter, and Kirk was smiling. "Oh, come _on_ ," he said, raising his hand to rub his forehead. "Why are you all concerned, all of a sudden?"

"I am an instructor and an officer of Starfleet," Spock said, vying for a way to step forward, "and as such the well-being of all students and cadets falls under my jurisdiction, my orders. To not assist you would be remiss of me."

"Oh, couldn't get you in more trouble, could I," Kirk said, mocking. "Well, one, fuck Starfleet, and two, you're definitely not helping. So you should just go."

"I do not plan on it," Spock said. "I am staying here, until you go inside."

Kirk stared at him, completely still and silent for a beat.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked, flat.

“You are correct, Mr. Kirk.” Spock walked forward, hands still clasped behind his back, dipping his head as he spoke. Watching Kirk’s movements, the tension of his limbs, should Spock be required to lunge for him sooner than later. “I am very poorly trained in this aspect of human interaction. If you could offer suggestions on how to improve talking a man down from suicide, I will be more than happy to listen.”

Kirk blanched at Spock's plain phrasing, then his face relaxed, the obvious way a young Vulcan child does when he realizes he's been showing too much and wants to look calm.

"I'm just trying to mind my own business," Kirk said, chilly. "Which you seem physically unable to do.”

"As I have stated," Spock said, now within only a few meters of the other man, looking Kirk up and down solemnly, "I must interfere. You are clearly in distress."

"Distress," Kirk said. Snorting. Staring at Spock as if he had spoken the greatest lie. "You help destroy my career, and you're concerned about my distress?"

Now, Spock was caught off guard. "Destroy -- excuse me, Mr. Kirk, please explain yourself."

"Explain --?" Kirk threw his arms in the air. The action was so severe that Spock considered reaching for him now, to draw him back further from the ledge. "Are you kidding? You threw me under the bus, Spock. You've screwed me over. Need it in Standard? You tattling about your broken-ass test is going to have me out on my ass, on the first bus to --"

And there he stopped, his voice faltering boyishly, breaking. He put his hand to his mouth, looked away, pale eyes briefly unfocused. Whatever he had begun to say had shaken him with a realization, and Spock took a few strides forward.

"Mr. Kirk," Spock said, as the other man startled and stared at him,"please, come inside. We can discuss this further in a more comfortable environment. My -- Dr. Grayson's office, for instance --"

"Oh, that's -- great, sure, I'll go there," Kirk said, laughing. He continued on as if he were talking to himself, not Spock. "I guess that might be safe. But you can get in there, right? Ranked Starfleet can get anywhere, right? Even personal spaces. There's nowhere we can go that I be alone, is there?"

"Mr. Kirk, come inside," Spock repeated. He reached towards Kirk and the man stepped back, rigid now.

"Don't touch me," Kirk said. His voice had broken again, hoarse. "Just -- can't you please leave me alone? Just --"

The tactic he was using was not working and Spock, displeased, knew he had to course-correct. "I cannot, as you are doing a great disservice to those who care for you at this time."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, I spoke of Dr. Grayson earlier, did I not?" Spock said, lifting his chin. "A fine, upstanding woman who has endured much. She is lucky to have a student that is so protective of her. And you --"

Spock invaded Kirk’s space, grasping his arm right below his cuff, shaking in example. In its decorative cage, the Teardrop chimed. "-- you wear a mark only her children may wear. She has decided you are part of her legacy." Spock allowed his own distress at this color his words, keeping them firm. "Could you truly do this to her?"

"Let me the fuck go, Commander --"

"Could you do this to her?" Spock shook his arm. Not violently, just enough to have the other man's shoulder jerk. "In this time? When she is --"

"Dying?"

Spock's hand, unbidden, slackened at those words. Kirk stepped away, rubbing his wrist. He had tears in his eyes, now.

"Yeah, she's dying. It just means she doesn't have long to mourn me," he said, but he was faltering now. Not just his voice. It helped Spock recover long enough.

"Certainly she would like to hear from you," Spock said, folding his hands behind his back now. "And a talk with her would do you good, Mr. Kirk. We can go right now, it is early morning on Vulcan, a fine time for a chat."

"It won't change the fact I'm out of Starfleet, Mr. Spock, so I'd rather not disappoint her," Kirk muttered.

"You are _not_ out of Starfleet." This was the only point Spock found tiresome. It made no logical sense: at worst, Kirk would face a suspension, but at this juncture, he would probably only have a brief one if one at all. A reprimand, perhaps at most. But here, somehow, Kirk was convinced that this was the death knell to his career.

"Who told you about your leaving Starfleet? We have not even had our second trial yet. That is tomorrow."

"I-I just know,” Kirk said, eyeing the ledge how, unconsciously. “A Commander, uh, he came to my room the other night to tell me --”

"Such a message would not be delivered in a fashion,” Spock said, "especially since the trial has not taken place, yet this is enough for you to decide to take your own --”

"I can't go back there!" Kirk shouted. "I can't -- I won't go back there. I might as well die here!"

"You will do neither," Spock said. "Mr. Kirk, you require help that I cannot give you. If you will not speak to Dr. Grayson, you should consider speaking to another one of the available counselors --"

Kirk began to laugh again, that awful nasal manic noise again. He put both his hands over his face, waving one after a while. Like Spock had made the finest, best-crafted joke, and Kirk had nearly died of it.

"Oh, holy shittt, you don't really know," Kirk said, smiling. He'd gone from being empty, to angry, to something soft now, almost kind as he smiled at Spock. "Look, Commander. I get your concern. It's really nice. Probably the nicest I'll get from Starfleet. But this is what they wanted from in the first place, man. After all I've done for them, the shit I've dealt with. They've driven me up here. I'm just surprised it's taken this long."

The words parsed to Spock, but their meaning did not scan. Spock only nodded. "Whatever it is I do not know, clearly you understand that I only have the intention of assisting you. We must rest for tomorrow, Mr. Kirk. I will be more than happy --"

"You! Happy!"

"-- yes, happy," Spock said, swallowing brief, impatient smoke, "to take you back to Dr. Grayson's office. While it is not optimized for sleep, it will be the safest place for you tonight. Whatever you may think -- officers do not have access to instructor's personal areas, nor should they have with students. Now, please."

Kirk hesitated. He stared out at the city again, the distant lights like stars, the wash of illumination making his tired face look deathly white.

"I can't," he said, with a very small voice. "I can't go back inside."

"You can," Spock said, stepped up, and grabbed Kirk's arm again. "You will."

This was not a light grip as before. There was no question in this. Kirk blinked, and tried, with significant effort, to pull away as he had before. He did not.

"You really need to let me go, Commander," Kirk said, now oscillating, apparently, between misery and menace.

"I will not," Spock said, absolutely calm. He pulled him forward; Kirk almost fell as he did. Spock, despite himself, could feel his heart hammer in his side. This was a gambit he did not like to pull on anyone, but it had to happen here.

"You will come inside with me," Spock said. Tugged again. "Please do not make me drag you, Mr. Kirk."

"I could get you for assault," Kirk said. He did not sound convinced of this.

"I would be happy to let you go, if I knew you would not jump," Spock said. "But if I do let you go, and you attempt a jump, I will not hesitate not disable you.”

"It's not about you, buddy," Kirk said. "You, or anyone else. It's not your life."

"Yet you discard it," Spock said, voice unwavering as his grip, "so I am merely preserving it for those who find it precious."

"It's not their life either," Kirk said. His eyes were wide, the irises washed clear from the harsh lights as they had been at the assembly. The only color was found in the red that rimmed his eyes, and of the maintenance door behind Spock. “I get to choose."

"No, you do not," Spock said, final, and pulled Kirk away from the ledge and nearer the shadows.

It was an awkward movement, as Kirk was no child. His captured arm twisted between them as Kirk righted himself. He glared at Spock as he recovered. The shadows were enough that Kirk had color back to him. The night was still chill to see respiration, and it haloed him like exhaust smoke. His eyes were still strange, his skin still blanched, his mouth red like a wound.

"Just let me go," Kirk said through his teeth. He made no promises, but his voice said everything Spock needed to know. Spock released him. Kirk rubbed his arm immediately. There would be bruises, but it couldn't be helped.

"Do you need your shoes?" Spock asked, gesturing towards the door.

"My shoes -- oh." Kirk's brows bowed up. He wiped his face with his palm, no longer so intense or defiant. Now, just tired. "Yeah, I -- I'll get them, hold on."

Spock followed Kirk inside, giving him wide berth. Shadowing him closely would be insult to injury. He gave one last look to the roof as he turned to secure it. It would have been a cold, lonely place even in hot weather. What had driven Kirk to die here and who had convinced him of his expulsion from Starfleet -- those mysteries could wait. Spock had guaranteed that Kirk would be around to answer them, at least for now.

**

Kirk woke up to his blaring alarm feeling hungover, with no memory of anything fun or exciting enough that made his headache and and nasty cottonmouth worth the trouble. He dragged himself up and out of his little nest in Dr. Grayson's office, feeling a strong sense of deja vu. No, this was a new day -- there was no hulking Vulcan, hunched and chattering sullenly at Dr. Grayson's old desk video comm, and no vague panic over the intruder lurking outside his dorm room.

He still wore his clothes from yesterday, and they smelled of old incense and soggy weather. Kirk's nose wrinkled as he pushed his hand through his tacky hair. He hadn't bathed since his bath at McCoy’s apartment the day of the first trial, and every part of him felt sticky from humidity and sweat. All the recent panic had superseded his fairly fastidious nature, so he had to make time to take a shower.

Kirk cursed when he finally stood and put weight on his now blistered and bruised feet. Running around in rigid dress shoes had done a number on them. He groaned as he realized they were also the only things he had to walk around in, with only soggy socks to wear between him and the stiff faux leather. He could probably find a way to buff them free of their scuffs and grass stains before the trial, but there was no way he’d be able to avoid limping around.

It was before classes were in session, and he could probably make it to the gym across the quad before someone noticed he was out of uniform. Kirk blinked a generous amount of eyedrops to saturate his dried contacts -- he’d switch to fresh ones after his shower -- and threw everything together in his duffle. He was so distracted by checking his comm for the meeting location that he nearly tripped over something at his aching feet.

Right outside Dr. Grayson's office was a shined pair of dress shoes, a small bag of blister bandaids, a fresh set of dress socks, and a pack of Kirk's favorite chocolate breakfast biscuits. Kirk knelt, hand costing over the shoes. There was no note this time, but he knew who had left them.

McCoy had left these for Kirk in the early hours of the morning, long before the doctor’s rotation had begun. The doctor wouldn’t have known he’d left them in vain, if Spock hadn’t talked Kirk down the night before. That Kirk might’ve been sleeping in the Bay instead of Dr. Grayson’s office wouldn’t have crossed his mind.

 _I'm sorry, Leonard._ Even though he hadn't taken the plunge, the guilt was there -- he'd have been dead, and McCoy wouldn't have known until he was well off-planet, lightyears away. Kirk felt nauseous, then he swallowed that back. If he wanted to show McCoy he was sorry, he'd get himself together for this meeting.

He had managed to drag himself together in an Academy shower. Thanks to Bones's fine forward thinking, he looked almost human when he finished toweling off his hair. In the full-length mirror, something strange caught his eye -- bands of bruised flesh on his forearm, above his cuff. It took him a minute to remember where they came from.

Normally, he’d be pleased to see such marks, trophies from a particularly exciting evening. All they did now was remind him he’d been driven to jumping off the roof of the Xenobiology Building. He rubbed at them, finding them as sore as his poor feet, and made sure that when he had his uniform on they were clearly tucked away. As much as he would’ve loved to get Spock in trouble, he’d have to explain where they came from in the first place.

The trial would take place in a private conference room in Starfleet Headquarters, which rose high on the other side of the Bay. It was a short shuttle ride over, but enough time for Kirk to find that, despite being exhausted, he still had room for gnawing anxiety. He drank the bottled water and stuffed the biscuits in his mouth obediently, knowing he’d have to bother with his pills and coffee at a later time. Dusting off any crumbs from his lap and uniform front, he hurried towards the conference room lift, caught his breath, and smoothed himself out. Best not like Spock see him ruffled.

Spock was already in the waiting room when Kirk reached the meeting floor. They regarded each other.

"Good morning, Commander Spock."

The Vulcan nodded, and said, "Good morning, Cadet Kirk."

No comment about the night before. Or the morning before that. Either that was a relief, or Spock was going to say things to the Admirals instead. Kirk had to be ready for that. He was decent at winging it when he was tired, at least.

Spock checked his chron after a minute of silence, then pressed a button outside the door.

“Enter.” The doors opened for them, and both of them inhaled in unison.

Kirk exhaled first, confused about what he saw. Or what he didn’t see, to be specific. There were no admirals here, lined up in their chairs and slate-colored uniforms. The only person in the room was Captain Christopher Pike, in his flight jacket over his yellow uniform.

Kirk seized up at the door; Spock stood very still beside him. Pike grinned, waving them in.

"Alright, you two. You know I don't bite. Come in, but don't get comfy."

Spock did so, stiffly. Kirk followed him, and they stood at parade rest beside each other. The Vulcan man was a single fraction of a step ahead of him.

"Sir, permission to speak," Spock said.

"Not yet, son," Pike said, tapping his hand on the table “You two are here because you're in trouble, and you know it. So I'm going to let you stew on it a second while I get your orders pulled up."

Kirk was antsy, but the despair from yesterday had dissipated. Pike being here, looking jovial -- he was the one that'd taken a chance on Kirk in the first place. He was also one of the people Kirk had assumed Spock was threatening in the trial.

"The tribunal actually just passed in their rulings over Saturday," Pike said. "They didn't want to come in on Sunday, and so I think you're both lucky, honestly. I got a call from Alexander to join him and Rich for breakfast this morning, and they tossed this on my plate."

Pike shook the PADD gently at the two of them. Kirk straightened up, and though he was still dizzy, dragging from his bad night, he felt relieved. Pike had met with not just the head of the academic board, but the head of the fleet -- Admiral Alexander Marcus was one of Pike’s old friends.

"One. The unanimous decision is that you two need to learn a little humility." That stung as it hit, but it wasn't the first time Kirk had heard it. He'd expected it. Beside him, Spock seemed to shift as if to speak, and Pike noticed. The older man stared at Spock without saying a word. Spock settled, the grip on his cap tightening.

"James Tiberius Kirk," Pike said, stepping in front of Kirk now to get his attention. "They are giving you a pass on being ‘creative’, and for making them aware of the issues with the sim. But you broke rules, and that's some thin ice. They want to see you play nice if you're going to be granted graduating early, or having to stay the next full year. So they want to see how you do in action with minimal supervision. Which brings me to you, Spock."

"Sir," Spock said.

"You know how things are, Spock," Pike said. His entire demeanor changed when he addressed Spock. Where he'd been nearly flippant and fond with Kirk, he'd become serious and grave. Pike glanced at Kirk, choosing his words carefully because there was company. "You know that this gave certain people an opening to apply some unpleasant pressure. Barnett made the final decision, though, and Marcus agreed to it. You got lucky.”

"Sir," Spock said. His voice had grown soft.

Kirk realized the small hitches of breath, the shuffling movements -- Spock had completely let his guard down around Pike. It jogged a memory of Spock's conversation with his Vulcan contact, a few words that had stuck in his mind that sounded familiar: " _entaprais-hali_ , _payihk-khart-lan_ ". Kirk hadn't bothered looking into Spock's dossier, with how distressed he'd been, but it was obvious to him now: Pike was Spock's commanding officer.

"So, that brings us to item two," Pike said, stepping away and tapping the PADD on the desk now. "You have less than forty-eight hours to prepare yourselves for going off-planet as officers on the _USS Lovelace_."

Kirk straightened up with interest. _That's Bones's ship_. "The educational survey ship heading to Vulcan, sir?"

"The same," Pike said, smiling at him. He was a handsome man, the kind of guy Kirk figured his dad would've been like, if he'd lived. "Excited for your punishment then?"

"I'd scrub every toilet in the barracks to visit Vulcan, sir," Kirk said, and Pike laughed.

"Oh, there we go, I told them you might have an ounce of humility in there, we just had to find the right stuff to bring it out." Pike looked at Spock. "This means you're going, too."

"Permission to speak, sir," Spock said.

"Now’s the time," Pike said.

"This means I will not be taking off with the Enterprise within a month's time," Spock said.

"Yep, that's what it means," Pike said. "You're going to be teaching that class in person, along with some other on-site duties.”

"Yes, sir," Spock said.

"You'll be back on it," Pike said, relenting a little."It’s not forever, Spock. Just not right away."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk hadn't expected to end up in a better situation than Spock after this whole ordeal, and certainly, neither had Spock. He felt oddly elated. Even if he was held back a semester, he wasn't out of Starfleet. If he behaved well, he'd be graduating on time. He was going to Vulcan. He hadn't been lying -- if they wanted him to slop the proverbial deck, he'd be happy for it.

Spock, though, had been taken off his current assignment for this. He'd been taken off his ship -- from Starfleet's flagship to a side-project survey dinghy. Being sent to Vulcan might've been pleasant under another circumstance, but not this way. Kirk could feel the tension, though Spock's face betrayed nothing.

"You'll both have your expanded orders, which you'll get when you get on the ship. The other thing is that you two need to give us a new _Kobayashi Maru_. One that’s got hope _and_ open-ended code.”

"Sir," Spock and Kirk said, in unison.

"I figure you'll be able to work that out between yourselves when you get settled. The trip's a leisurely one -- two months at sea. Plenty of time to get something between the two of you eggheads, huh?"

"Sir," Kirk said. "Thank you, sir."

“Great. Now the both of you get out,” Pike said, affable, “I want the rest of my Sunday to be an actual day off.”

They left the conference room, and walked towards the elevator. Kirk assumed Spock would be silent the whole way down to the lobby, but that wasn’t the case.

The doors closed, and Spock said, “I hope that this was satisfactory for you,” in a soft voice that cracked, once.

"It's a second chance," Kirk said, raising an eyebrow. "I think we're both lucky."

"There is no such thing as luck," Spock said, his voice now lowered, to prevent cracking again, "which is an illogical concept given to a perfectly adequate measure of probability and of statistics."

"Fine," Kirk said. He found himself nervous, but in control. "It’s still a second chance."

"There should have been no need for ‘second chances’ in the first place, Mr. Kirk,” Spock said.

"We got one anyway," Kirk said. If it had been a day ago -- two days ago -- he might have been crueler. He might have dug right into the root of Spock's sudden inadequacies. And if Spock pressed him now, he might.

Kirk remembered Spock's easy gaze, the almost curious way he waited while Kirk had vented his demons, his confusion about Kirk’s misery. The man across from him in the lift was not the same one that'd left brand-like bruises on Kirk's forearm in an attempt to save him, or the man that was clearly attempting to be kind to him in Dr. Grayson’s office. Spock’s brow furrowed deeply, his posture unyielding that was almost dangerous, and not in an exciting way.

The possibilities that had plagued Kirk today -- the fearful idea of Spock relating those stories to anyone, using it in the conference as leverage, or worse – hadn’t come true, and Kirk suspected now they never would. He decided to show Spock levity, at least this once, returning the favor from last night.

"They say they want us to learn how to be humble. Let me give you a leg up," Kirk said, as the door opened before them, "Lesson one: be thankful."

"’Thankful’?” Spock’s eyebrow arched. “May I ask -- for what, Mr. Kirk?”

"That our punishment wasn’t worse.” With that, Kirk left Spock speechless in the headquarters lobby, an uneasy victory that settled wrong with him all the way back to his dorm.

**

Spock did not require the full forty-eight hours to prepare for his mission. He spent five of them tidying up his immediate affairs and packing, and the remaining forty-three meditating on his inner turmoil due to his unforeseen circumstances. The human term for such behavior would more poetically call it "brooding", though Spock considered his time in self-reflection far more productive.

The shuttle ride up to Earth’s main ship dock was uneventful. He used that particular time to review the specifications of the starship that would be his home for the next few months. Spock found the reveal somewhat underwhelming when he approached the ship itself by her moorings.

The USS Lovelace was of an experimental refit of one of the first Oberth-class survey ships. It was a relatively small craft with eleven decks, only a fraction of that was livable space. It could hold just over seventy-five people at a given time, with the enlisted crew being housed nine to a single bunk. The original gymnasium and dining hall had been replaced with classrooms, moving each to the so-called recreation area, which took up a good quarter of the joint cargo-shuttle bay.

There would be no issue of overcrowding, however, as their numbers were far under the potential complement. Aside from the initial four Cadet Officers and himself, there was an auxiliary crew of seven to keep the ship managed while everyone was in lessons or teaching and twenty-two civilians. Eighteen humans and four Vulcan ambassadors, almost all of them students. Additionally, the Vulcans came with two chaperones, both slightly older than Spock himself. The humans did not have any supervision, which, considering their age group, seemed incredibly ill-advised.

Though Spock would not be sought out for any advisement in the near future. He had received his official reassignment orders this morning, and it took great resolve to read them. _In light of damages and costs incurred to the officer's academic misrepresentation of vital Command Track curriculum, Commander S.T. Spock has been placed on temporary suspension of his duties aboard the_ USS Enterprise _and reassigned to the_ USS Lovelace _by suggestion of Captain Christopher Pike and Admiral Richard Barnett. With good faith behavior, the officer may have his commission to the_ USS Enterprise _reinstated once his mission aboard the_ USS Lovelace _is complete._

Admiral Marcus himself had signed off on the order. As far as Spock knew, they were the only three that knew of said reassignment. It would appear to others as if he had requested it to conduct his Vulcan language class in person, traveling to Vulcan to visit his ailing mother. A fine story, simple and logical, though false -- he had not requested such things. He was given the opportunity, without room to argue. As far as punishments went, it could have been far worse, as Kirk had said.

Kirk. The cadet had not yet arrived, though Spock predicted he would accompany Doctor McCoy onto the ship. Spock waited on the catwalk closest to the ship's saucer, to watch the QA crews make the final adjustments and fixes to the Lovelace until at last he caught sight of the bright brass of Kirk's hair among the scattered crowd.

Spock caught Kirk's gaze by chance, as the human man surveyed the Lovelace. He looked the healthiest Spock had seen him: his pale skin was a fine rosy color, the curious parting of his lips and slight tilt of his head showing definition, rather than the gauntness after the trial. His light eyes were no longer eerie, though the blue color still startlingly bright.

If Spock had not been so troubled by their encounter with Pike, and about the situation regarding his suspension from the Enterprise, he would have appraised Kirk's beauty. Right now, it reminded him of how such attributes could be used as weapons, leverage in social situations, deception. Even those people that were not interested in men could not help but find his surface demeanor charming. It did not help that Kirk was textually brilliant and cunning.

It was illogical, as well as unlikely, that Kirk would try to ply him with this resource of his. Spock steeled himself regardless. Kirk's initial show of wit and insight had placed Spock in an unpleasant, professionally compromising situation. Now, they were made to work side-by-side for two months, and Spock was told to keep a keen eye on Kirk's movements and behavior, which he would still do fairly. To be anything less than perfectly unbiased would not do either of them favors. Yet he forecast straining Surak's Patience by remaining untouched by Kirk's part in Spock's disgrace.

McCoy jostled Kirk from his distraction, calling him back to whatever conversation Spock's presence had disrupted. Kirk glanced up once more, the low gaze of one predator to another, which stirred something unfamiliar next to his heart.

He had never felt challenged before in his life, not such as this. Kirk was an intellectual match for Spock. He was on the defensive, which meant he was likely calculating how best to protect himself. He'd seen through Spock's thin veneer of control in Pike's office, a weakness Spock was sure Kirk would not hesitate to exploit if he were cornered. And he was paranoid enough to think that Spock would be 'out to get him' again, regardless of Spock's earlier efforts to the contrary. That alone solidified Spock's resolve to be as impartial as possible in his observances, but he was already anticipating the extreme mental fatigue that would come from guarding himself in each interaction he and Kirk were to have.

 _It is a pity we are already so at odds_ , Spock thought, allowing himself a moment of sentiment as he boarded the lift to the Lovelace's bridge, before shuttering himself into Surakian indifference. _In another universe, we might have easily been friends._

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter [here](http://twitter.com/ESSWrights). I would love to know if you've enjoyed my work -- I am thankful for each comment and kudo I get!
> 
> Much love to my wife Shoi, who helps me constantly with blocking scenes and working through this canon. I couldn't have written Jim without her help. Also to my beta readers Sam, Ahsim, and Al, and as always my writerly pals Rae, Monk, and Nick, along with countless other cheerleaders on my TL for my work. :) Thank you!
> 
> Please check out the [Star Trek: Pleiades](http://archiveofourown.org/series/943461) series page for other works, including supplemental short stories.


End file.
